


you're listening (you don't miss a thing)

by courageous_boss



Series: you've always loved the strange birds [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Bruce's children love him and miss him, Dick and Damian need hugs, Dick is sad, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 10:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16061189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courageous_boss/pseuds/courageous_boss
Summary: It's two a.m. and there's a child tugging on Damian's sleeve.





	you're listening (you don't miss a thing)

Damian had taken Dick for granted, then. But, Dick had made it seem so _easy_. So effortless.

He’d rolled with the punches, accepting each of Bruce’s ‘pet projects’ with grace and welcomed them and made them a small family. He’d smiled and waved and always made the first move. He’d offered gentle hands and warm hugs and never missed an opportunity to shower them with praise. He’d gone above and beyond to form bonds between the people whose only common thread was that they’d been deemed a worthy degree of pathetic by Bruce.

And, for all his efforts, Dick had only asked that they humoured his efforts. He’d asked for short conversations and even shorter hugs. He gave and gave, and only wanted that they accepted what he was offering. He’d made it seem like they were doing him a favour, pleasuring his whims.

Damian now knew that he was wrong.

“Dami?” A soft tug on his sleeve. Warm, thin fingers splayed on his arm. “Dami, wake up. _Please_.”

The voice – Dick’s, it must be Dick. Only he would find it appropriate to wake someone in the middle of the night – is whiny and shaky, so Damian peaks one eye open. He’s promptly assaulted by the biggest, bluest, most watery eyes he’s ever seen.

“What? What time is it? Are you okay?” Damian asks, craning his neck to read the bright, red light of the clock. Two a.m. Great.

Dick clambers up the side of his bed, pointy knees pressing hard against Damian’s side.

“I can’t sleep,” Dick whispers, tangling his small hands into Damian’s shirt. He blinks up at Damian through his long, dark eyelashes, eyes sad and shining with repressed fear.

Damian smooths a hand through Dick’s hair, kissing the rest of his sleep goodbye. This is about more than a restless night and he knows that there’s no way he’ll get Dick settled enough to even close his eyes again.

“Would you like to sleep with me?” Damian asks, pushing the blankets down to let the young boy in. “Would that help?”

Dick shakes his head, tugging on his bottom lip with his teeth. He’s a terrible liar, and his eyes are shifty when he says, “I’m hungry too.”

If they’d been back at the Manor, Dick would have been bothering Alfred about his empty stomach. Instead, tonight, they are in Metropolis, bunking with Clark and running away from everything they’d had in Gotham.

Dick likes hugs – had always been a tactile person – and must be feeling especially shaken tonight because he latches onto Damian’s torso and hangs off him during the walk to the kitchen. He’s small for his age and worryingly thin. He eats and eats, but jumps and skips and flips, and never seems to be able to hold any weight on his frame.

“Let’s see,” Damian deposits Dick on the kitchen counter, squeezing at the child’s calves as a warning to stay still. He pulls the fridge door and holds it open with his foot, using the lighting to rummage through the cupboards. He grins when he spots something at the back, “Look what I’ve found.”

Dick all but squeals, squirming in excitement and glee, “Lucky Charms? Oh, Dami. Can I have some? Can I, please?”

Alfred had preached and cajoled about the benefits of a nutritious breakfast and balanced meals, and Dick had been denied any of the sugary mess of marshmallows and food colouring that he desperately wanted. But, Alfred’s not here, and Dick’s smile suits him much better than his frown does, so Damian nods. “Only if you promise to tell me what’s really bothering you?”

The slight fall of Dick’s shoulders only makes Damian more determined to get to the root of the problem, and he makes to look like he’s sliding the box back into the cupboard.

“No! I’ll tell you, I promise,” Dick screeches, “Just, please! Don’t take my Lucky Charms away!”

Damian has half the mind to scold him about his volume. But, Clark has superhuman hearing and is sure to have heard them by now. He pours them each bowl and lets Dick add the milk. They both sit on the counter, cradling the porcelain bowls on their laps and knocking their ankles together. Dick doesn’t speak, but he isn’t quiet either, humming, slurping and thumping beats into the wooden counter.

Damian lets him be for a little while before he says, “Now, would you please tell me why you’ve got me eating cereal at 2 a.m.?”

Dick’s voice, tiny and brittle as he asks, “Was I a good person?” shakes Damian to his core.

“What? Why would you ask that?”

Dick can't look at him anymore, eyes trained on his soggy cereal. “I don’t have a family, anymore.”

Then, Dick looks older than his age and heartbroken in a way most people never feel when he says, “Bruce always had a plan. What to do when there was an Arkham breakout. What to do if Superman was annoying. How to get Alfie to bake his favourite cookies.”

Damian swallows, his stomach churning uncomfortably. His mouth feels dry and his eyes itch.

Dick finally turns his gaze on Damian, wet and confused. “So, why didn’t he have a plan for me? He left me, and he didn’t have a plan for what that would mean for me. Why?”

Earlier that night, when the sun had been pink, and Dick had been pliant and fuzzy after his afternoon nap, there’d been a civil discussion in the Manor. Damian had only been allowed to participate in because he’d been there when this whole thing had happened, and their Dick had stopped being their Dick and had become this tiny, dependent thing who needed a proper family.

Despite Alfred’s steady words, Clark’s experience and Diana’s placating hands, the civil discussion had ended in a screaming match. Damian had thought Dick was too absorbed in the board game Wally had been entertaining him with to hear anything that had been said. He was beginning to doubt that now.

“He’s been gone for a while, Dick,” Damian chokes out. His chest feels tight. He remembers how Dick had looked at Bruce’s funeral, face haggard and body weighed down by this inescapable grief. More so, he remembers how Dick had looked in the cowl, broken and beaten down by Gotham and Bruce’s legacy, but forcing that stupid, fake smile on his face for Damian’s sake.

“I miss him,” Dick whispers the words, voice soft and gaze flittering around the room. He looks guilty, like Alfred had just caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “He was my friend.”

Damian sets his bowl down and pluck’s Dick’s from his hands before shifting the boy until Dick’s nestled on his lap. Dick leans against him, body small, warm and trembling. He’s young, body vulnerable and mind scared, and Damian curses Gotham for taking his parents, and taking Bruce.

“Would you like to visit his grave? Would that help ease your hurting?” Damian asks. Jason had said this would happen, voice thick and gravelly as he’d spoken on Dick and Bruce’s relationship. They weren’t father and son, he’d said, hands pulled into fists. They were partners, always have been, always will be.

Dick turns to press his face against Damian’s chest, and when he nods, Damian can feel the moisture of his tears.


End file.
